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Before I left, LK and I were talking about travel fatigue. He had been in Vietnam and come home early, partly because he felt he was no longer getting as much out of it as he could have.

The past week has been like that, a bit. Many parts have been really amazing but frustration and apathy have crept in. It’s hard to say if it’s travel fatigue, hedging on some key decisions, or sadness about the end of this chapter. Right now LG and P are on their way to indo for a legend surf trip I’m joining on Tuesday. This could change things.

At the top of the Great Ocean Road, in a tidy motel room across from the beach.

Last night the girl with braces from Taiwan threw herself across her bed with a six of VB. I considered joining her but hit MoVida and The Toff instead for tapas and alt country up and comers.

Melbourne is a friendly city.

Earlier a guy at the Levis outlet made me buy mens skinnies due to their lack of stretch and low fit. He converted the size. They are glorious and were $35.

Later at the concert a girl came up to me, asked if I was alone too, made me sit at the bar with her.

I also had my first macaron, first warm jam donut, first tram ride. Drank mulled wine by the river watching rowers, had a flat white at one of the city’s best. Wished everyone was here for an off center almost perfect day.

Today was a little lazier, everything catching up. Charming as the city was, arriving here I felt everything calm down and booked into the first place I stumbled on for privacy, tons of towels and a double bed.

Saturday night in Melbourne. Right now little persuades me to get out of bed, full of steamed red bean buns and pork dumplings. The windows vibrate with JLo club sounds. I’m still hanging from crashing through Launceston last night keeping up with an old friend. Right now I lack the energy to be On, meet people, aim for a big one. I look up gigs later in the week. Sunday sessions. Tell myself a glorious well rested Sunday morning is worth the trade-off.

Of my close friends from each phase of life, no one has yet knocked out a mini model. Peripheral friends have had a couple. Everyone I’m not friends with from high school could not, apparently, wait to board that train. By the time I get around to it the next generation will be making out on the basement stairs.

There was this couple in the town I lived in who had their third while I was there. About 30 years old. I saw them out one night after a formal event. They were grinding and flirting. It was weirdly very romantic, which I wanted to say and didn’t.

I’m not ready.

I will be, I think.

It may be like marriage. I remember thinking “after college” was the defacto get-hitched time as I meandered through undergrad. I sized up relationships at twenty with so much seriousness. The latent fear of getting a bad draft pick for lack of scouting hung heavy. Things like meeting parents were big markers. In short, much time that could have been spent on being a good friend, making more bomb mix tapes, throwing crazy parties and/or doing something with my perpetually messy hair was consumed by a deadline that would eventually pass without notice. Hair, still messy, music, still disorganized.

With babies I guess there are a few clocks. The after-35-science-says clock, the one that reads you want to spend a couple years with the baby daddy prior, the career ladder mess-up timer. Late twenties me can’t say if some or all of these are reality for my situation. Late twenties me was too busy last Friday loving a dubstep electronic whatever set to be thinking about procreation or noticing the time running down.

(That is actually not true. It may be the sense of time running down that makes life sweet right now.)

I write this after thirty more conversations about my next move.
The odds are against it being “have a baby”

Tasmania, all indie rock and local food and green space… you’re alright.

After 24 hours of travel, three legs by bus and two by plane, I’m eating and wandering my way through Hobart in the dead of winter.

Sometimes it feels shockingly close to the college town I accidentally spent seven years in, but I can’t tell if this is real or just latent homesickness.

Tomorrow, a road trip and possibly a house party. Today, MONA, which quickly made the list of art galleries to see before you die, for the concept and the tech interactivity as much as the art. And the view afterwards when the rain had cleared and sun was setting? Bliss.

The food is markedly better than anything in months. Markets, restaurants… and the bakeries. Oh my. You could have a day just touring bakeries.

Two and a half weeks, one sketchy itinerary based on a magazine article, general feeling, and vague suggestion. Off season, as off season as it gets.

The plan is no real plan, just ideas about where to go next and how to get there. Move along when it feels right. It’s sort of exciting. Maybe I meet people, maybe I don’t. Maybe I drink too much and run amok. Maybe I spend the whole time sussing yoga studios and tea rooms.